Ground Zero
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: Mount Hyjal was the ultimate goal for the Burning Legion during the Third War. The place where the hammer fell hardest, and where the largest scar would remain. A testament to everything Azeroth and the kaldorei had lost to the flame.


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**Ground Zero**

"Shandris…Elune-adore." (_Elune be with you_)

"Elune isn't with me Tyrande. Don't claim otherwise."

Tyrande Whisperwind didn't have an answer to that. She could have uttered some platitude…Elune still shone, the world still stood and the children of the moon goddess were still alive to enjoy both. Enjoyment however, would be a long time coming, even weeks after what was being called the Battle of Mount Hyjal. The Burning Legion had been defeated and the legions of the Scourge had crumbled before the renewed vigour of the mortal armies, but the scars remained. And as far as Nordrassil was concerned, such scars would never fully heal. At least, not the trunk itself.

"The World Tree is gone…" Shandris murmured as her elder walked up beside her, the archer looking out over the wasteland that was Mount Hyjal's peek. "Our immortality is gone. Our-…"

"And if it wasn't sacrificed, we wouldn't be standing here having this conversation," Tyrande interrupted.

"And if that what Malfurion tells you? Or has your _goddess _given you some divine insight into what's to become of us now?"

"Insight tells me that if we believe that immortality is worth more than life itself, we deserve neither."

Shandris fell silent, her gaze continuing to linger over the wasteland that Archimonde's destruction had incurred. In turn, the priestess of the moon kept silent as well. She couldn't fault Shandris's despair-indeed, much of her bitterness was shared by her on some level. Kaldorei civilization had been brought to the brink ten thousand years ago, and here they were, in the present day, with history repeating itself. Thousands dead. The Well of Eternity destroyed in the War of the Ancients, now with the World Tree laid to ruin in what the humans and orcs were calling the Third War. Not that Tyrande understood exactly what the first two entailed, but to her, it was déjà vu that came too early. At the least, the world had escaped the devastation the lake's destruction had brought, but…

_But nothing. I'm making an argument from ignorance. _

No, Tyrande told herself. She couldn't feel sorry just for her own people. Not if what she'd heard of the lands to the east was any indication. Azeroth had suffered as a whole. Hyjal had been the apex of that conflict in more ways than one, but it wasn't the only scar the conflict had wrought.

"Makes you wonder…" Shandris said eventually, drawing the priestess out of her reflections. "What's the point of it?"

Tyrande opened her mouth but the sentinel beat her to it. "I'm not just talking about us…I mean, the world as a whole. How long until the legion invades again? How many blows can Azeroth take until it simply keels over? Who's to say we'll be free from each other's throats when that time comes?"

Tyrande didn't answer. Night elf society would recover, but what of their connection with the furbolgs? So many of the bear-creatures had been corrupted, and the surviving ones were becoming increasingly withdrawn. Then there was the Alliance-Horde situation. Tyrande knew she had much to learn about both sides' history, but it seemed that despite the efforts of the groups' leaders, their people were just a few steps away from starting another war up again. Thrall was taking his people into the barrens while the Proudmoore girl had located an island area to the southeast that would be ripe for settlement, but even so, Tyrande had to wonder how long it would be until both sides gave into their baser natures. And how long it would be until the kaldorei were drawn in as well. Would they stand alone, or have to pick a side?

Shandris kicked a pebble down into the flattened plateau below. Maybe she was thinking about the same things.

"Xaxas," the archer spat. "Nordrassil's dead. We'll be dead soon enough, in all likelihood. Only a matter of time before the entire world follows."

"Some might call that defeatist talk."

Shandris snorted. "Defeatism only applies if there's a distinct enemy to fight."

"No, it doesn't," the priestess said. "And do you know why?"

"Enlighten me."

"Because I've heard such sentiments before," the priestess said calmly, using the same tone of voice to address Shandris as she had in the dark days of ten thousand years past. "I've heard such sentiments expressed after the War of the Ancients. I heard people say that we were doomed. That the planet would never recover from the Sundering."

Shandris remained silent, though her superior couldn't tell if it was because she accepted her words, or that she simply didn't have anything left to say. Either way though, Tyrande knew that there was only so much she could or would say regardless. She had to get back to Malfurion. Forests to heal, settlements to rebuild, the lives of the fallen to mourn and honour…there was only so much time she could spend on one person.

And only so much time Shandris could spend up here before being ordered to come back down and do her job. But maybe it would do her good. Maybe she'd see a withered trunk…but also the surviving roots underneath.

And even if it took ten thousand years…even if she wouldn't be alive to see it…Tyrande knew that from those roots, something great could grow.


End file.
